Brazzle Dazzle, Storms, and Strength

Ever since I was a small girl, Sunday mornings meant a house filled with music. My mom turned on Music and the Spoken Word, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's weekly broadcast, early each Sunday, and I woke up to that music. I listened to it as I got dressed for church, and something stuck. Eventually, my mom took me to see that broadcast in person. It awoke in me a passion for beautiful spiritual music and a desire to share that passion with others.

As I grew up, I filled my Sunday mornings with sacred music. I filled my life with sacred music, singing it in choirs, congregations, and performing with various choral groups. It elevates the soul and rejuvenates the spirit. It became my safe haven during storms.

I sang all the way through college, but I suddenly stopped after coming home from my mission. There wasn't time in my "busy" schedule to sing in an organized group. I was working full time, going to school full time, and managing a hectic family life. However, after my divorce, I found a small choral group in Salt Lake City, UT, and started singing again. This tight-knit group often wrote their own arrangements, composed new music, and had been together for decades. I felt horribly underqualified to join them, but they were impressed by my mechanics, my dedication, and my love for music. I adored singing with that special group.

As I have moved back and forth over the last five years, I haven't been settled anywhere long enough or been healthy long enough to really participate actively in music. But I still listen, and I still sing.

This morning, as my mother did for decades, I turned on Music and the Spoken Word. The Choir sang some stirring arrangements of traditional hymns, and while I enjoyed it, I didn't have that feeling. After about 20 minutes, Lloyd Newell, the narrator, began talking about strength and faith. He said that we can choose how we use our emotional energy during life's storms. We can choose to be distraught, frustrated, angry, and give up, or we can choose to be strong, brave, and live with faith. We can choose to continue living in the midst of life's storms. Living, really living, during life's storms is a sign of strength. And it's a choice.

As I listened to his message, I realized that I do not always choose to be strong. Sometimes I want to shrink from my challenges and be "normal." I don't want to be the person who has been through SO MUCH and can be such a great example to others. (That's what my husband tells me.) I just want to be that girl listening to music on Sunday mornings. But his message helped me see that I am that girl. I can choose to accept that role and the challenges that make me better and stronger or I can choose to "kick against the pricks (Acts 9:5)," harming my own learning and growth.

Pricks always remind me of goatheads.

Pricks are thorny spurs that farmers during New Testament times used to keep their herds together. If an animal started to stray, the shepherd prodded him with the prick to remind him to stay with the other animals. Some animals didn't like this reminder, so they kicked. When they kicked, that prick would give them a jab, and it hurt.

Goatheads are thorny little spurs, and they're usually found in fields, abandoned lots, and other places children like to roam. They were all over my grandparents' yard and on the sidewalks. As kids, we hated shoes and would walk around barefoot. Inevitably, we would find a goathead with our little feet, and because we didn't have shoes, it rammed right through the skin and lodged itself deep into the souls of our feet. My Grandma, being a nurse, cleared off the kitchen table, set up her "operating room," and pulled those goatheads from our feet. She would then remind us that if we took the time to put on shoes before going outside to play, we wouldn't get these awful thorns in our feet. My little sister didn't listen after her first experience and got a goathead stuck in her foot that went in so deep, the thorn couldn't be pulled out on Grandma's operating kitchen table with tweezers or a sewing needle. Grandma told my sister that she would have to let it work its way out, a slow, painful process.

We are often like my sister and I were. When proverbial goatheads come our way in life, we forget to use the safeguards available to us to help us avoid the painful, festering thorns. We walk out barefoot and think that we can be strong on our own. And we get spurs that are so deep that we can't get them out alone.

After Lloyd Newell introduced me to the idea that strength is a choice, the choir sang one of my favorite songs - Brazzle Dazzle Day from Pete's Dragon. Watch it here. Pete faced a storm, but his dragon friend Elliott helped him see every day as a brazzle dazzle day - an opportunity to take on new challenges and find joy in everyday living. He then met others who helped him overcome the obstacles he faced, find a home, and enjoy the blessings of family.

Finding joy in each day gives us additional strength to weather the storm. We can use any and all resources available to help us weather the storm. They range from a trusted confidant to learning new skills to getting professional and or medical help. We can't be strong alone, and life isn't meant to be that way.  If we reach out to others like Pete did, we'll have the resources necessary to endure difficult times and find joy so that every day is a brazzle dazzle day

Gawk Girl, Gawk Girl, What do You See?

I'm consistently surprised at the number of people who stop me in hallways or at dinners and say, "I read your blog. You've really been through the ringer." "Wow, you are such a strong person." "I had no idea you'd been through so much."

I don't write to tell people I've been through the ringer. As a matter of fact, none of  my own personal hell is contained in this blog. I'm saving that for the novel. That's what publishers really like. I write to tell my story. I write so that others understand the human experience is no respecter of persons. I write so that some person in some place will eventually understand that there is beauty in struggle, joy in pain, and that dawn always comes.

My younger sister and her two little boys have been in town for two weeks. The boys attended swim lessons, and because I was still recuperating from surgery, I got to do my favorite job - be an auntie. We colored, did modeling clay, made playdough, frosted sugar cookies, made home made ice cream, watched movies and ate popcorn, and made cute little wooden boats. Emily and I chatted during swim lessons, she helped me do things I couldn't do around my house and bought take out for dinner. I can't remember the last time I had takeout before then. It was marvelous.

One morning before swimming lessons, I had to run an errand. I haven't had an appetite since surgery, so I have a policy to eat something if it sounds good, even if I have to buy it. I was driving down the street, and a lettuce wrapped sandwich sounded delightful, so I pulled into the parking lot, jumped out of my car, and headed towards the sandwich shop. As I walked toward the door, I noticed two young girls, both decked out in Fresno State gear, enjoying their lunch. I thought to myself, they must be students. Maybe they're grabbing lunch in between classes or summer jobs.

Just as I noticed them, the girl sitting closest to me scanned me head to toe with a look of total disgust. She didn't glance and look away, which I can handle pretty well. I disgusted her. Granted, my body is still pretty swollen from surgery, so wearing real clothes is hard, but I had on a dress, sandals, my hair was done, my body clean, and a kind smile plastered on my face. I gathered more intestinal fortitude than I should have and just walked in the store.

I am not a skinny girl. I never have been, and I never will be. My father is 6'2", his mother is about 5'8", and I'm Swedish and German. We are just big people. I also have been extremely ill for 10 months, so excuse me if I'm not beach ready. I also think that ruining my long term health to fit into a a swimsuit that makes me look naked is counterproductive to my self worth, so I refuse to do that.

Did this young girl know that? No. Would she have cared had I told her? Probably not.

Should I have stopped and asked her what it was about me that caused her to gawk like some crazed teenager? Some say yes, and some say no.

The debate about privilege, body shaming, equality, body love, mental health awareness, and bullying in our country is at an apex. Each lobbying group thinks their constituency needs more - more legislation, more awareness, more special treatment, more money to get what they "need" to help others realize what's good and right and true.

I disagree. What we need are parents. Real parents. Parents who teach their children that people come in all sizes, shapes, colors, and that they are all just people. People are not inherently bad. They may make bad choices, and then we can decide whether or not it is wise to continue to associate with those people, but all people inherently want to please others. They want love, acceptance, kindness, charity, and belonging.

As a child, I lived in a very small town in northern Utah. In my congregation at church there was one African American family. As a matter of fact, they were an interracial family - The Coltranes. My father's assignment at church was to visit them on a monthly basis, share a gospel-centered message, and help them with any problems they may have had. Their daughter, Lacey, was my age, and we soon became fast friends. She was smart, funny, and she loved Jonathan Taylor Thomas, New Kids on the Block, and Boyz II Men. She didn't have to share a room, which was awesome, so we would get together and hang out, talk about the boys at school, and laugh at how they had no clue we liked them.

But when we got to school, things were different. Lacey didn't want me to hang out with here, and I didn't know why. She was so cool. Little did I know, she was protecting me. She had it really rough. I was on student council, and she was the only black girl at a small town school in Utah. Do the math.

It never occurred to me until we moved to Fresno that Lacey must have been hazed relentlessly. The idea of civil rights was still new in the 1980's and early 1990's, and many kids' parents taught them to be very conscious of color.

I grew up in a family where people were people, and they came in all colors, shapes, sizes and backgrounds. My dad served a mission in Washington DC, Maryland, and Virginia, so he had seen it all, met people of every ethnicity and race, and my mom's dad was a very successfully cattle rancher, so all his workers were either Basque or Latino, and they were family. My grandmother started cooking for them as soon as the kids left for school and delivered their meals to the ranch every day.  To me, color and background made us unique, but they enriched our lives, opened new doors, and expanded our possibilities.

When I get disparaging looks, when someone invites me to their latest and greatest weight loss MLM program, or when a doctor tells me that the only reason I'm sick is because I need to lose sixty pounds, I have no problem telling that person that I don't stand for stereotypes. I have no need for judgmental thinking in my life.

This means that I'm not always in with the in crowd. My worldview doesn't always jive with mainstream Mormon CULTURE (not the doctrine of the DDS Church), and I'm just fine living that way. The only person I need to please is my Savior Jesus Christ, and my Father in Heaven.  President Dieter F. Uchtdorf gave wise counsel in April 2014.

 "We simply have to stop judging others and replace judgmental thoughts and feelings with a heart full of love for God and His children.  God is our Father.  We are His children. We area all brothers and sisters. I don't know exactly how to articulate this point of not judging others with sufficient eloquence, passion,and persuasion to make it stick."

Replace the unkind feelings with love. Service is the perfect way to deepen love for another person. If it is hard to get along with a neighbor, family, or friend, find a way to brighten their day, make it easier for them to complete their tasks, and do it regularly. It rids the soul of hate and instantly increases charity.

Just do it!

Third Time's the Charm

The last three weeks have not been for the faint of heart. I mustered all my intestinal fortitude and decided that now is the time to put pen to paper, so to speak.

I am currently dealing with post-op infection number three. Infections one and two occurred simultaneously and kept me pretty busy. With no time to think about this final change, I laid in bed, slept, drank old people chocolate shakes (not as bad as some things I've forced down), and let ultra strength antibiotics ravage my body for a week and a half. Scott lived on leftovers, food from ward members, and the best freezer meals I've ever eaten.

For those who helped, thank you again.

This infection is different. Blessed with time to see my hair start to fall out, feel crazy, and experience loss and grief along with the terror of "what's next?" swirling through my head, the last thing I needed or wanted was time to lay in bed and feel like crap.

I went to my doctor's office/workplace Friday to confirm the recurrence of infection two, and our office manager's only question was, "Why aren't you back at work yet?" Instead of gorking her eyes out a la Three Stooges, I explained that I am still not well enough to come back and haven't been released by my surgeon.

As soon as I left the office, I beat myself up. That nasty voice in my head said, you should be back at work now. You're such a lightweight. Three weeks is plenty of time to be off. You're a failure. You're going to get fired because you can't come back to work in time. Get your act together.

By the time I got home from that appointment, I felt that I could never succeed at anything. I laid back down on my bed, and I saw a sign that sits on my dresser. The quote on the sign reads, "Always remember, you are braver than you know, stronger than you seem, smarter than you think, and loved more than you know (Jeffrey R. Holland)."  As I stared at that wooden sign, a quiet, peaceful thought came to me. I remembered that regardless of what one person says, there is Someone else who knows perfectly who I am, where I've been, the heartaches I've felt, the battles I've fought at valiantly won, and the great successes that lie ahead of me. He is my Heavenly Father. He knows me and loves me infinitely and perfectly.

That calm reassurance reminded me that, however long and hard the road, I can and will succeed as long as I trust Heavenly Father to guide and direct my path.

"...There are no Shops Where You Can Buy Friends..."

Those who suffer for an extended period of time with little to no relief are an exclusive group. We would form our own club, but then it would be considered a pity party, people would think we were depressed and possibly suicidal, and that would be no fun. Since we can't form a club, sit in our jammies and eat ice cream together, or even make snide comments about the lazy phlebotomists who screwed up the needle stick so bad we look like battered women, many women (and men) who endure long, difficult mental and physical trauma often walk the path alone.

The quote used as the title of this post is from The Little Prince. It states: "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy ready-made things in the shops. But since there are no shops where you can buy friends, men no longer have any friends." Wouldn't it be nice to stop by Target after work, especially after a really crappy day, go to the friends section, take out your "must have" list, and bring a friend home with you that same night! There wouldn't be that awkward call on a Friday or Saturday night, "Oh, you already have plans. Don't worry about it. Me? No, I'm fine. Seriously. NO REALLY, DON'T WORRY!  Have SO MUCH FUN!" followed by a click, a flying phone, a swerve across a few lanes, and praising the powers that be that the McDonald's was so close. Diet Coke and sappy movies it is.

Those of us who suffer don't want to inconvenience our normal friends. No one wants to be THAT friend. You're all dolled up, the babysitter has arrived, a massive bacon-wrapped filet Mignon is calling your name in that fancy dimly lit restaurant, your man actually shaved and let you put some pomade in his hair, and you see THAT friend's number on your caller ID. You promise it will take five minutes max, and then your romantic candlelit night is spent in the ER, surrounded by screaming children, MRSA, and something that smells like it died two weeks ago and just came to see a doctor.

The unfortunate thing is, we need friends too. We need them for emergencies, and we need them to go out with us. We need them to keep us up to date on all the goings on in the world, and sometimes we need someone we trust to see the dirty house, the ugly cry, and to tell us that this is as bad as it's going to get, the the Lord still loves us, and that things have to turn around soon or we will all be in straight jackets together.

We need someone who can throw us a pre-cancer party, complete with pin the thyroid on the raptor, Thyroid cupcakes, and a customized song. See below for proof on that. One of the funnest parties ever for one of the best friends a girl could ever have!

Thyroid Cupcakes

     

Kim enjoying  thyroid dessert!

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Terra's new Thyroid Hair Accessory

My friend loves games, so we came up with two games for her, and we even incorporated her favorite sport - hockey. This was no pinterest-worthy souree, but it did the trick!

Yo, Adrian! The thyroids is attackin my bodoy!

LM Montgomery said, "Life is worth living as long as there's a laugh in it," So have a goodbye thyorid party, Say so long to those ovaries or that uterus. When my friends and I threw this party, we weren't sure how our other friend would take it, but she loved it! We laughed all night long. We eased her fears, she knew she had a support system, and no one got sappy. Try it out!

After surgery on Wednesday, my husband brought me a Diet Coke so it would be ready at my bedside. My mother and father-in-law both came and visited me in my room. People from church asked how I was, and my new visiting teacher sent me a text message, came and saw me, and brought me a succulent. I had tons of text messages, well wishes, and good vibes sent my way.

I felt loved from all my friends and family. But here's the thing that I couldn't buy at the store and that left me on my knees praying to my Father in gratitude. One of my dearest friends comes from a large family. She has been going through a tough time. At the same time, her younger sister is moving out of state with her young family. Her older sister is my older brother's age, and she has relapsing remitting MS. She recently started her own business and asked me if I could do an online or in home party for her to help get her name out there for this business. I explained that I couldn't at this time due to my health. Rather than get upset or unfriend me on social media, her next response stunned me.

"Is your ward arranging for you to have any meals after surgery? If not, I want to bring you some freezer meals."

I broke down and sobbed. I had been working sick for almost three months because I am in a new job and need to help provide the basics for my family. This sweet woman answered my prayers before I knew what to ask. "You don't have to do that. You have a busy family of your own, " I answered.

"I understand if your ward is already doing something or if you have family helping out (which she knew was not the case), but I know what it's like to not be able to cook but to want to eat nutritious food. It's really no big deal. Ill just bring them by next week."

I humbly said thank you, and three days later, I received 6 freezer meals for a family of 4-6 people. My freezer full to the gills, I relaxed a little bit.

The day before surgery was scheduled, I got a text message reminding me that I had signed up to take a dinner to an elderly couple in our ward. I freaked out. I didn't have the time or intestinal fortitude to do that! I said a prayer to guide me, and then I remembered, I had FREEZER MEALS! I cooked a meal, called the family, but I got no answer. I went to the house, no answer. Finally I called their daughter, whose daughters are my good friends. This sweet old man was in the hospital. She said I could take dinner and drop it off at her house. I was irked. I went through the trouble to make a dinner, and it was going to go in a refrigerator or back in the freezer because no one told me this man had been hospitalized. I bawled my eyes out from stress overload, got in the car, pulled myself together, and delivered this meal.

No sooner did I get through the door than they asked how I was doing. Again, I could not hold it together. I explained that I was nervous about surgery and frustrated. My sweet friend, who is here on vacation from her life on cruise ships, offered to bring us dinner after I got released from the hospital. It was easy to fix and delicious.

I couldn't buy my friends at the gift shop. They are rare gems. They provide me with a type of service money cannot by.

In Mere Christianity, CS Lewis said, "Good and evil both increase at compound interest. That is why the little decisions you and I make every day are of such infinite importance. The smallest good act today is the the capture of a strategic point from which, a few months later, you may be able to go on to victories you never dreamed of. An apparently trivial indulgence in lust or anger today is the loss of a ridge or railway line or bridgehead from which the enemy may launch an attach otherwise impossible."

We are capable each day of "rising to greatness and going on to visions [we] never dreamed of," or of working for the enemy to destroy that rise to victory. Being that friend that money cannot buy, helping the downtrodden, even if they may look okay on the outside, helps us rise to greatness. Doing those small things adds oil to our spiritual lamps so we can go in when the Bridegroom comes.

If we ask for opportunities to provide charitable service to others and then listen and watch for those opportunities, they will come. They are there every day. We just need to choose wisely when me make little decisions each day.

Twas the Night Before Surgery

Tomorrow is a monumental day. Tomorrow marks the end of a year-long healing process. It marks the end of one of the worst years of my life. Tomorrow I undergo my last of three life-changing surgeries. Tomorrow I have a robotic total hysterectomy.

Hysterectomies are for old women. Patients I normally see at work who have hysterectomies are my mother's age. They've had children, their children are grown, and they don't need their equipment anymore.

A hysterectomy was never part of my life plan. I always wanted to grow up, go to college, become the best starving writer/English teacher in the history of starving writing English teachers ever known, and have at least 5 children, most likely six to eight. That was the plan.

After putting off college to put one husband through school, getting divorced at 29, providing for my own needs for almost four years, getting remarried, and continuing to help provide for my family, school became an idyllic dream, something I longed to complete but never thought would be a realistic goal, and despite my best efforts, children just didn't come. I always thought, I still have time. I can always do IVF or IUI. It will work out.

When I got remarried, I wanted a family more than anything, but I wanted to make sure my marriage would work. Once it was working, we decided to start working on a family. That was when I found myself in the emergency room, sure that I had appendicitis, only to find softball-size ovarian cysts instead.

Reassured that they could be removed and my reproductive organs spared, I agreed to outpatient surgery, understanding that I might have to undergo a laparotomy and be admitted to the hospital. Anything to start my family, I thought.

After I woke up from surgery in the worst pain I had ever endured, I learned that I'd suffered a traumatic oopherectomy, but that my other ovary was spared. I tried to stay positive. Little did I know, I was at the beginning of one of the most painful journeys I would begin in my life.

Shortly thereafter, I would learn that I had malignant nabothian tumors that were well-contained and caught early. In short, I had cancer and needed more surgery. On December 30th, I had my last ovary removed. Time did not allow for egg retrieval. My plans for children, forget six, not even one child, ended that day. Against other surgeon's advice, my doctor followed my wishes to keep my uterus. I still preserved some hope that I could carry a child through egg or embryo donation.

By some miracle, I began working for my doctor in March. I heard a baby's heartbeat in utero for the first time. I found myself helping others who faced scary situations and cuddling babies who had just come from Heaven. It was the perfect situation.

Less than a month after starting my new job, a scary, familiar pain returned and I began bleeding every two weeks for a week at a time. I knew something was wrong, so I talked to the doctor. After she examined me, we discussed the bleeding, dying elephant in the office - the last result. I needed a hysterectomy. This procedure would not be like any normal hysterectomy. Due to extreme endometriosis, a complicated anatomy, and adhesions from previous surgeries, I had two options - open laparotomy or robotic surgery with the gynecologic oncologist.

Talking about the C word is scary. Knowing you've fought it is mind-blowing. Booking surgery with her made me want to pull my hair out, eat all the ice cream in Fresno, drink myself into oblivion, and cry until I'd died of dehydration all at the same time. Dr. Wu moved her practice from Stanford to Fresno because there was no gynecologic/obstetric oncologist in Fresno, and we have such a massive need that she could not meet that need on a part-time basis. She is young, tenacious, and phenomenally gifted. She also is an expert at robotic surgery, so if I didn't want to be in bed for 8-12 weeks again, she was my only option.

My doctor made an agreement with Dr. Wu, we booked surgery, and I waited. Cancer doctors have long waitlists, so because I wasn't dying, I needed to wait. I worked for two months in some pretty intense pain. Luckily we found some good anti-inflammatory medications, and I went to work, did my job, and slept.

The closer I got, the more I realized that a robotic hysterectomy with the cancer guru is not what every girl wants for her 34th birthday. But it is what I really want. I want to be healthy and live my life. I want to go back to school, finish my degree and teach. I want others to know that, even if life hands you a crappy hand, you play that hand and sometimes you win.

Just remember, life is meant to be hard. It's meant to be a place of learning and growth. The harder things get, the more we learn and grow. If it feels like an AP class, good! Life is giving you the type of growth that will make you a God or Goddess someday. Learn from it. Work. Pray. Repeat. The rewards are worth it!

Women and Mother's Day

Note: I wrote this for our Corvette Club newsletter. I am posting here because most of you do not read that publication. Enjoy!

Women and Mother’s Day

By: Aimee Parkin

“A woman is like a tea bag – you can’t tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.”

~Eleanor Roosevelt

Mother’s Day’s origins reside in ancient Greek and Roman mythology.  The Greeks and Romans held festivals in honor of the mother goddesses, Rhea and Cybele. Modern Mother’s Day can be traced to early Christian Festivals known as “Mothering Sundays,” held the fourth Sunday in lent. Parishioners returned on this Sunday every year to the church in which they were christened, or their “mother church,” for a special service.

Mother’s Day resurfaced in America during the Civil War, when Ann Reeves Jarvis started Mothers’ Day Work Clubs to teach women in her home state, West Virginia, how to properly care for their children. Her clubs became a unifying force during war time, and mothers continued gathering during the long Reconstruction period. This helped reunify a torn nation and promote peace.

In 1870, Julia Ward Howe wrote a Mother’s Day Proclamation, encouraging all mothers to promote peace. Three years later, she encouraged all mothers to set apart June 2, 1873 as a “Mother’s Peace Day.”

After Ann Reese Jarvis died in 1905, her daughter Anna Jarvis campaigned for an annual Mother’s Day holiday to recognize the sacrifices mothers make for their children. Anna never married or had any children, but in 1908, a local store, Wanamaker’s, sponsored a Mother’s Day in her town. She then sought to make it a national holiday. In 1914, President Woodrow Wilson made the second Sunday in May Mother’s Day.

Since then, Mother’s Day has, like many other holidays, been subject to commercialism, materialistic marketing, and has devolved into a day where women sit in church, hear about someone’s idea of the angel mother, get a chocolate to ease their pain, and if they are lucky, get some swag from a guy who fell prey to a marketing ploy for diamonds, shoes, cars, or maybe a trip. If they aren’t lucky, they buy some ice cream and call it a wash.

But the women who founded Mother’s Day wanted to promote peace, better the lives of their fellow travelers, and celebrate each other’s accomplishments. We can do that without flowers, chocolates, a new car, or jewelry. Take a look at some inspiring women from America’s short history.

Anne Hutchinson (1591-1643) was banished from Boston by the Puritans due to her political and religious views. She was left to defend herself and her children against natives in New York, and she died standing for her beliefs.

Margaret Brent (1600-1699) is known as North America’s first feminist. She became one of Maryland’s largest land owners when most women were still property. Someone had to set the precedent. Thank you, Margaret!

Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672), one of America’s first poets. Because of her, colonial America has been preserved. She wrote in great historical detail. Fun fact – until the mid 1800’s, most women could not get literary work published unless they used a male pseudonym, yet Anne broke the mold and saved history simultaneously.

Dorothea Dix (1802-1887) worked to alleviate misery as the Superintendent of Female Nurses during the Civil War. If you are a nurse, thank her.

Elizabeth Blackwell (1821-1910) holds the honor of the first female medical doctor in the United States. She graduated from Geneva College in 1849, opened a slum infirmary, and trained women in medicine. Thanks to her, the poor have access to good medical care, and some of the world’s best doctors are women!

Ellen Swallow Richards (1842-1911) paved the way for science geeks everywhere by being the first female ever to enroll in MIT in 1870. She is also the reason you took Home Economics. She founded the science. Thank her for your cooking, sewing, and other domestic skills.

Grace Hopper (1906-1992) received a PHD from Yale and was an early computer programmer and a leader in software development. Your kid learns coding in elementary school because of her.

Women shape our world. They inspire us to do more, be better, set new goals, and reach them.

(Eloise Olson, Aimee Parkin, Evan Olson)

Finally, Florence “Eloise” Bloxham Olson (1929 - ), born to poor sharecroppers in Arimo, Idaho, graduated Valedictorian of her small high school class while helping her mother care for her five younger siblings. As a young girl, she learned to sew, knit, crochet, cook and bake. She learned to plant a victory garden. She adored flowers, especially roses and spring bulbs and developed a green thumb early on. She loved making jams, jellies, and canning fruits and veggies for her family. She met her husband, Evan, while she worked as a telephone operator in Pocatello, Idaho, and they had three children. After sending three children to college, Eloise pursued her dream. She returned to college and became a nurse. She graduated Valedictorian again and enjoyed a career spanning two decades. She nursed geriatric patients with care and compassion. Her final patient was her sweetheart, Evan. She now enjoys reading, knitting, cooking, canning, baking, and spending time with her three children, her daughter-in-law, her 10 grandchildren, and 9 great-grandchildren. Her favorite granddaughter is Aimee Parkin. 

This woman taught me grit, perseverance, the value of education, and that it’s never too late to pursue a dream, set a goal, or learn a new skill. She still tries new recipes, she learned to use the computer, the internet, and now enjoys using FaceTime. Despite setbacks and hard times, every day is a blessing to her.  During a very difficult time in my life, she handed me a small photo that she had kept in her wallet for nearly 30 years. It was me at age 3-4. She told me that it brought tremendous joy to her and that my smile always did her heart good. She then gave me that picture. I carry it in my wallet and think of her. I remember her strength, her sweetness, and her grit. And I remember that because I’m hers, I can do anything.

Let’s celebrate inspiring women on Mother’s Day. Tell them why they’re inspiring. Thank them for their story, their teachings, their mentorship, and the pathways they’ve paved. That lasts longer than flowers, jewels, or cars ever can.

Sources

Online Highway, LLC. “Important and Famous Women in America.”

http://www.u-s-history.com/pages/h1551.html#1600s

The History Channel. “Mother’s Day.” http://www.history.com/topics/holidays/mothers-day

The struggle...

I just read an article regarding a survey taken by LDS women in Utah that tried to rate their antidepressant usage in comparison to non-LDS women in the same region. The article was published by Deseret News and appeared online today. After reading the article, the study's findings, and some of the subsequent commentary, I can't restrain myself. I am shocked. No, I am appalled. Let me explain my reaction.

According to NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness, one in 5 Americans experiences some form of mental illness in their lifetime, and one in 25 adults lives with serious mental illness. That means that 43.8 MILLION people in the US experience some form of mental illness in one year. Depression is the first leading cause of disability worldwide. So why are people, LDS people, shocked to learn that mental illness occurs within their own community? The numbers listed in the survey are only those who sought treatment for their illness. According to NAMI, only 60 percent of people suffering from mental illness actually seek out treatment. And remember, mental health treatment is covered by most insurance, including ObamaCare.

Given this perspective, given the prevalence of mental illness, and given that it is well established in the scientific community that mental illness is a disease just like cancer, diabetes, or the flu is a disease that requires treatment, why was there so much backlash to the article and the study? Why do people in a post-industrial society still think that seeking treatment for a serious illness is not needed, just because it involves the brain?

I started to have symptoms of depression in my early twenties. I saw a doctor, told him that I was struggling with fatigue, couldn't focus, cried all the time for no reason, and just didn't feel right. After more evaluation, he gave me a prescription for a mild anti-depressant. It worked, and I started feeling better.

After my divorce, I worked with psychologists and psychiatrists to get relief from PTSD, OCD, major depressive disorder, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I saw a therapist every week for almost three years, a psychiatrist continued to manage my  medication, I attended a 12 step program for families of addicts, and my family learned how to help me manage my symptoms. At more than one time I have been suicidal. I am open about my illness because it is serious and can affect my ability to function normally.

At times, I have had to turn down jobs, opportunities to serve in the Church, and I have to constantly monitor my activities to prevent burnout. My family helps me with this as well. They cheer me on, encourage me to try new things, and remind me to find balance in my life. I take my medication EVERY DAY, take vitamins and supplements, eat a balanced diet, and ask for priesthood blessings when appropriate.

Depression isolates me from the world. Many people don't understand why I have to cancel plans, sometimes at the last minute. Some people think I simply choose not to participate in activities because I would rather be at home. That is far from the truth. When I am slipping down the dark slope, there are very few people I can let in. Very few people understand why I can't get out of bed, why I don't eat, why I can't shower, and even fewer people can get me to do those essential things.

I feel the stigma. I know I'm not like those super Mormon women. I know I can't be like them because I will end up burned out and ready to quit. Some people don't understand that, and I understand that they don't, but if they also have no compassion, I'd rather just stay with the people who can love me for who I am.

Bottom line, one in five people has felt the way I feel at least once, and there are many more who struggle like me every day. Be kind because you never know what type of battle someone else is facing. Be loving and gentle to others. Judge not. Understand that it is a serious medical condition, and sometimes as much as we pray, it doesn't get better. Sometimes the best we can do is get up and go through the motions. Be patient. We are worth it.

Conquering the world

So, I got a job and my blog went to pot.

Par for the course.

However, I have learned so much in the last month. I knew I was going to get my current job a month ago, but I refused to blog about it because I was also sure that if I said anything to anyone, I would fail. We're talking fall flat on my face, get kicked out the back door, never work again type of fail.

I've learned that one of my greatest fears is a fear of failure. I am a perfectionist by nature. It is part and parcel of living with obsessive tendencies and anxiety. I'm afraid that people judge me too harshly, that people don't like me, that I will never taste success, that I will never accomplish the goals I set for myself, and this list goes on into eternity. I then proceed to obsess about my list. Every time I say something and people laugh, I think, are they laughing with me or at me? When I answer a question in a class, I think, did that sound like I'm a know-it-all? When someone asks if I need help, I think, do they think I don't know what I'm doing?

These fears have been reaffirmed as I've worked to learn a new job in a new field. I've been a receptionist about ten million times, I worked answering the phones for almost ten years, but I know nothing about medicine, and I really know nothing about having babies. (By the way, obstetrics and gynecology is GROSS, and the older a woman gets, the GROSSER it gets!) Consequently, I'm learning a lot. This means I need to ask questions - a lot. I need to do this while I am working. I also need to do this while women call me, in a panic, convinced that they are dying. In reality, they are not. I also have to ask them difficult, gross personal questions. I ask things like, how heavily are you bleeding from your vagina, how often do you have intercourse, how many partners do you have, are they male, female, or both, and, my personal favorite, what color is your vaginal discharge?

Then I am supposed to know what this information means and if a patient should see a doctor. I don't really know when I am supposed to see a doctor. I waited until my ovary twisted on itself and died to do that.

At any rate, most of the people I work with are great, and they help me navigate this new position with care and compassion. However, there is one person in the office who likes to have her hand in everyone else's pot, stirring when they want to turn on the hand blender.  That gets messy. Today, she ran from her office to the front desk hollering, "Wait, wait, wait! You can't do that!" at me. Needless to say, all those little questions come creeping up in my mind.

We are also transitioning to a new electronic medical records system right now. This means that we get to go to a vendor's office and have software training! I taught software training for 5 years, and I wrote course material for software training. Our instructor is great, but some of our staff are "resistant to change" (read - they are dinosaurs and have no clue how to use automated systems), which makes the learning experience frustrating. I have already been asked why I do things a certain way for one system. (Aimee, why do you put details about consent on the consent page?)

On a positive note, I am learning that I can work through my obsessions and anxiety. They don't cripple me. I can talk to myself (Not out loud. I'm not crazy.) and remind myself that I'm in control. It also helps that I go home at night, eat dinner, go to bed, and sleep. Then, when I wake up, my husband makes me oatmeal, lets me sleep in for 20 minutes, and makes sure I have clean clothes for work.

I feel so proud that, even though I get up some days and think, I can't do this, I make it through every day and get up the next day to do it again. I am proud that I am healthy enough to work. I take pride in my work, and I take a personal interest in my patients. I care for them. I pray for them. I love getting to know them.

I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge the hand of God in this process. I pray to Him constantly for strength to overcome my weaknesses, help to remember what I need to do each day, serenity, patience, health, and so much more. I know it might sound trite, super Christian, or any other number of things, but I am so grateful that He is always there. I couldn't make it through a workday without His help.

I babysat my nephews while my sister ran a Ragnar the week before Easter, and I reminded them that they can pray to Heavenly Father for anything at any time. While I was there, I was scared that something might happen that I couldn't handle. I prayed in the middle of the night, and I instantly felt peace, knowing that Heavenly Father has always helped me handle things that I knew I couldn't handle alone. I love the quote above from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. Sometimes the road is so difficult that we know we cannot move forward even one step, but we need not give up. We never walk the difficult path of life alone. There are always better days to come. We just have to trust and believe in good things to come.

I know that there are an abundance of cutesy quotes in this blog post. This is not normal, as those who read my blog are aware. Many of you may not know that I love cutesy quotes and rely on them during my most difficult times. I save them on my phone and my computer. I save them on Facebook and Instagram, and I follow uplifting accounts on social media. I do this intentionally so that when life really sucks and I am falling into the black abyss, I can quickly remind myself of the important truths life offers me. It keeps me from looking for an alternate solution to my suffering. Try it. Keep them on your phone, your computer, put them up around your house, follow positive feeds online, find quotes you love on Pinterest as well. Then when life really sucks, you've got an arsenal to combat your suffering. Let me know how it works!

Dandelion Magic

Now, the most astute amongst the smallest little group that reads this blog will notice that I have changed the look of my blog. I did this purposefully. Let me tell you a little bit about the meaning behind this change.

I love dandelions. As a young girl, I picked yellow dandelions and gave them to my mother as flowers. As I grew and matured, I popped the heads off yellow dandelions, killing them for sport, pretending they were the children at school who bullied me for being bigger than the other kids. I was big and tall. By the time I hit sixth grade, I was five feet, six inches tall, wore size nine in shoes and a size 12 in women's clothes. That's just the way I was made. Kids are ruthless. I was on student council, went to a county-wide leadership camp for which I was nominated by teachers and my principal, but there were two boys who called me fat, pulled my chairs out from under me at church, ridiculed me in front of everyone, and never relented. Looking back, I admire their persistence. I don't however, admire their mean-spirited behavior, their crass attitudes, and their parents' unwillingness to do what my parents would have done - make that stop instantly.

As a product of the 1980's household, discipline was not taking away a cell phone or taking me off a travel team. I didn't just get a stern lecture. I would go without my late-night reading sessions, my black and white television in the room I shared with my younger sister (and thus feel her wrath), face months worth of grounding, surely be made to apologize, and probably feel my dad's size 12 flip flop across my behind. Consequently, I behaved. I was a good-natured kid anyway, but I had older siblings and knew that behaving paid in spades.

So I took my aggression out on dandelions. One thing an Olson kid knew as that we did not mess with the less common white dandelions. I spent my young childhood in a small northern Utah town. Utah has four seasons, and after a wet winter, yellow dandelions begin to spring up all over the yard. They hail the advent of spring. I know, you thought it was daffodils and tulips, but for a kid like me, I knew winter was really over when our yard filled with yellow dandelions. I smeared their vibrant yellow all over the sidewalk, thrilled to see nature at work. And then I popped their heads off, picturing these cruel boys in my mind.

I'm sure my mom wishes dandelions actually looked that good. She probably also wishes that her favorite daughter didn't constantly turn the sidewalk yellow and then leave dead dandelion heads all over the yard, but she knew I was weird. 

Now, when most people think of dandelions, they think of the dandelions that did not usually grow in our yard. They were harder to find, especially completely intact. They were special. These were not to be destroyed. These dandelions, delicate and white, were for wishing only. With four kids in our house and a family with six kids across the street, white dandelions became a hot commodity. Once pickup baseball games began in our yards, they disappeared, hit with bats, balls, and random objects that became our bases. But I still sought them in earnest. 

On the magical day that I found an intact white dandelion, I carefully picked it directly from the grass. Then I stared at it forever, formulating the perfect wish. You see, any kid over age three knew that white dandelions were the secret to getting a wish granted. They were better than the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, and Santa combined. Their magical powers unlocked the keys to the wishes that no one else could grant. The trick was formulating that wish before the wind blew your chances away. Then you had to blow all the little white "blossoms" away in one giant blow. For a little girl, this nearly insurmountable task could take all spring and into the early summer to accomplish. But the hope, the magic renewed itself with each new dandelion. 

I wished for two things every summer. I wished for the bullies to quit, and I wished for my own room. 

The bullies still haven't quit, and now I voluntarily share a room with a smelly man. 

But I learned the truth about dandelions. 

Dandelions teach us to just let go.

I eventually learned to stand up to those bullies. In sixth grade, Evan Hernandez's torments reached an all-time high. I'd bruised my tailbone one too many times. 

My smart, although probably unconventional parents finally said, "If he says one more thing, you are allowed to punch him in the face. Just make sure you knock him to the ground with the first punch. And whatever you do, don't let any grownups see you."

Sure enough, he cornered me with his minions at recess the following day. After telling him I'd had enough and he needed to stop or I would punch his face out, he continued. I punched him in the face and knocked him out. Cold. He laid on his back in nasty standing rain water, his cronies mocking him for getting knocked out by a girl. The black eye had already started to form. He never bothered me again. And, of course, he never told a soul. 

That was the first time I used the white dandelion for its true purpose. I let go of my fear. I had over a foot and probably 50 pounds on that squirt, but I allowed him to control how I felt about myself. I allowed him to make me feel inferior. Never again. 

I faced my next dandelion at age 29. After five and a half years in a mentally, emotionally, verbally, and sexually abusive marriage, I asked my parents for help. (Is anyone seeing a developing pattern?) I needed to leave, but I didn't know how. I didn't know who that strong girl who punched a kid to the ground had gone, but I knew I wanted her back. I made the decision to leave on Mother's Day in 2012, which coincided with my niece's first birthday. When my husband went camping that following Monday, I took my most prized possessions and left. I drove to San Diego, took a leave of absence from work, and never looked back. I just let go. I had no plan. No place to stay. No money. But I blew on that dandelion and knew it would be okay.

During the ensuing three years, I moved six times. I changed jobs four times. I gave away everything I owned except for those few prized possessions. I could fit my life in my car. But I did it anyway. I went to therapy and relived a pain I didn't think I could remember. I learned new terms like PTSD, GAD, MDD, guided imagery, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, triggers, safe place. I learned what music I liked, what food I liked, how I wanted to wear my hair, how I wanted to dress, I learned how to be alone. And I bought stock in Kleenex....or I should have.

I lived in Los Angeles, had killer hair, had lost 80 pounds, and loved it. I lived with roommates I adored. Then something started calling me to Fresno. I hated Fresno. My pain lived in Fresno. The feeling never relented. I got sick, very sick. Things at work became unbearable. I moved home, started seeing my therapist again, lived with my mother again. We didn't know how to live together. We butted heads. I finally gave up my apartment in LA. I blew out that white dandelion. I moved in with a new roommate and shared a bathroom. YUCK! I started working at a feel-good job. I made half as much as I made in LA. My boss started nagging me to go on a date with this guy she knew. I refused. I refused for six months. 

Then I went bowling. In May 2015 I went bowling to shut her up. To shut everyone up and live my quiet, sad, solitary life.

On November 14th of that same year, I wore this necklace. Inside are little white dandelion "petals," preserved in a little acrylic sphere. 

That day was my wedding day to that goofy guy I was forced to spend an evening bowling with. We both went to prove everyone wrong, just to blow out a dandelion and let it go. It backfired, but I learned that, in letting go, the best things come to us. 

Today I spent some time on the phone with a dear friend. She's my best friend, actually. She finalized her divorce today. She stands where I stood five years ago. We laughed together, we cried together, and we talked about how meeting in Honors English 9 twenty years ago this fall was another great dandelion moment. We also talked about how we never could have imagined in a million years that our friendship could have survived three marriages (total), two divorces, two children, college, and cancer. She just saw a smart, mouthy girl that she could commiserate with about journal writing. That journal writing fostered a love for the written word in me and a friendship that has endured the unspeakable. That is the best dandelion of all. 

That English teacher knows who she is. She knows I hated those journals. She knows I thought writing about my weekends, my thoughts on grizzly bears and other seemingly random topics was a total waste of time, ink, and paper. What she may not know is that it created a lifelong friendship and probably saved my life. So thank you. Thank you for my best dandelion of all. The ability to be myself through the written word. The ability to survive the unthinkable, come out on top, and tell my best friend she will do the same. Thank you for giving me the tools I needed to blow out the most difficult dandelion of all - the ability to be myself.

Fourth Floor, Last Door and other thoughts

Every six months before our church's worldwide general conference, I review the addresses from the previous conference, look over the notes I took, look at goals I have made for myself, and then I review my life situation, look for questions to which I need answers, and spiritually prepare myself to receive inspiration. It's a rewarding and yet difficult process of introspection.

A few days ago, I listened to a talk that I actually had missed due to illness from the women's session of our last conference. Women's session is always my favorite. I leave feeling like I walk on water, can do no wrong, and should eat cake on a throne every day. 

Yes, I got the shirt to go with it. You can get one here. And then thank me for finding it and Melissa Radke for being amazing!

But, I digress. President Dieter Uchtdorf, one of the members of our church presidency, gave this amazing talk entitled, "Fourth Floor, Last Door." You can read it here. At the beginning of the discourse, he states, "Now, some of you might not feel worthy of such high praise. You might think you are too insignificant to have a meaningful influence on others. Perhaps you don’t even consider yourself a “woman of faith” because you sometimes struggle with doubt or fear." Those who have followed this blog know that I am this person. So, of course, I sobbed and sobbed. 

He then discussed that when we doubt, when we don't get the answers we are seeking, when we are alone, in the dark, when we are so overwhelmed and have more than we can handle, rather than listening harder, we should listen differently for inspiration, guidance, answers, and help. 

And that late night, worrying about my OBGYN appointment the next day, doomed to a lifetime that I knew I would hate, a lightbulb went off. Not in my brain, not on my nightstand, but in my spirit, the light turned on! I needed to listen differently. God had a plan for me, he answered, he showed it to me, but I didn't listen correctly. I remained fixed on having my ducks in a row, or even resigned to having them fenced in my yard, but he wanted them in a pond - a beautiful pond full of lily pads and fish, surrounded by cattails and daffodils and tulips and all the beautiful shade trees I could ever want! I wanted the city and he wanted a beautiful spring garden.

Three hours later, I got up and with new, expanded vision, I went to my doctor's appointment. I still had no job, no fertility, and was looking at years of education and student debt, but the sky seemed bluer, the trees greener, and the sun brighter than I'd ever seen it, and for the first time in months, I felt that I could trust God to open a tiny window. I might have to eat fruits and veggies and chicken for a while to fit through that window, but He was going to open it. And I was okay with that option. EARTH SHATTERING!

For some reason, Dr. Reddington's office was slammed. I arrived early and waited. And waited. And waited. Soon enough, those feelings of doom and devastation began to sink in again. I fought to suppress them with all my might. Finally, the medical assistant called my name, and I went back to a room. Dr, Reddington walked in soon enough, and she gave me a big hug. Just in case some people reading this don't know, doctors don't usually hug. She then told me that I have another fibroid by my bladder and intestines, but she wants to wait to do surgery until she can get the specialized oncologist to operate with her, and if I'm not in too much pain, we'll watch things for a few months. I told her, "I'm all surgeried out right now anyway." 

What happened next almost made me fall off the examining table half naked. She asked about my current plans, and I told her about my last job experience and that I'd decided to go back to school. She commented on the absurdity of people expecting employees to be miserable at work. We laughed about it. She then said, "I need a receptionist. I don't want to question your wellness or offend you, but I need someone who can be here every day. Do you think you can do that?" I explained to her that I needed a reason to get out of bed every day, and that I needed the income. She responded that she figured that was probably the main issue and asked if I could speak with her office manager before I left. I, of course, felt the need to reassure her that I am incredibly smart and a very fast learner. 

She said, "Aimee, I know that. Do you think I would offer you the job if I didn't? Besides, I know Kristi. I know your family. I just want to make sure I'm not setting you up for failure."

She left the room, and I sat there, reeling. I thought, What in the world? Who goes to their OBGYN and comes out of the appointment with a job offer? This just doesn't happen! I talked to Melanie, the office manager, and we agreed to a working interview so I could make sure the job was something I could handle. I went in yesterday, and of course, the office staff are great, the environment is great, and the timing is great. 

This is the best thing - it forces me to face my grief head on. I'll see women and children every day. I'll see pregnant women every day. I'll deal with them every day. I've been paralyzed by grief. This is my worst nightmare becoming my life, and now I can work through it in a positive manner. This is my window.

Happiness is...

Sometimes when life gets hard, when I want to crawl in a hole and eat M&Ms forever, I force myself to look for something good in my life. I look for something to stop the proverbial hemorrhaging so I can come out of the hole and maybe eat some dinosaur chicken nuggets.

I spent all week in bed unless I had a doctor's appointment or labs. I bled all week. I cramped all week. I almost puked when I stood up - all week. It was so much fun.

I learned on Friday that I have two thyroid nodules that need biopsies and suspicious adhesions around my uterus.

The only reason I kept my uterus was with the hope that I could do IVF with donor eggs. And then I bled all week.

I had a job interview on Wednesday. I had to reschedule for Thursday because I was having ultrasounds done. No one wants to go to a job interview after having nodules and adhesions poked and prodded, especially trans vaginally. Kids, if you don't know what trans vaginally means, don't ask. It will scar you.

I woke up on Thursday in so much pain I couldn't stand up, so I tried to reschedule my interview again, and of course, that didn't happen. Who needs a job as Handi Ride dispatch anyway, right? Who needs a job, period?

I really brought my best this week.

Then I looked back in hindsight, and I saw tender mercies all around me. The Lord gave me little miracles to keep going just one more day. I decided I couldn't go into next week without acknowledging the miracles in my life.

On Wednesday I went to see a friend. Her son entered the MTC that day. I'd gotten him a couple of ties and some socks. He loves camouflage, so I bought camo wrapping paper and bright orange string to wrap the gift. My friend excitedly showed me that he'd used the tether string from his package to mark his luggage and was grateful it could be hunter orange. It brought a smile to my face.

Thursday night, my husband bought me dinosaur chicken nuggets, mint M&Ms, and peanuts. I wasn't kidding when I said that I could crawl in a hole and eat M&Ms forever. The night before I ate chocolate chips because I didn't have anything else sweet to eat. He could've told me to eat the boneless skinless chicken breasts we have in the freezer or that I could eat regular gluten free chicken nuggets, but he got me dino nuggets because they make life more fun! And the peanuts? When I was a kid, my Grandpa Barkdull always had a glass jar of Planter's Peanuts by his chair. I stole a handful from that jar whenever I got a chance. I love peanuts. I asked Scott to get me some for the baseball game. I was expecting a small container, but I got a jumbo size jar of peanuts!

Friday was the Fresno State baseball game. I was too sick to go, so Scott went alone. He didn't complain at all that he had to go by himself. He left me with my peanuts and M&Ms and went to the game alone. He surprised me with a Shamrock Shake from McDonald's, which I didn't eat, and then didn't complain that I didn't eat it. He just put it in the refrigerator.

Today was our Stake Women's Conference, and I really wanted to attend, but I still was not well enough to go. Devastated, I called my mom and cried. She consoled me. She currently has a banged up face, banged up knees, and probable concussion because she fell on Wednesday night while trying to fulfill her church calling and talk to me 10 million times at the same time. But she didn't say one word about how I was monopolizing her time. She told me she was sorry that I am still having health problems. She told me how unfair it is that I can't live my life the way I want to live it and that I should be able to enjoy myself. She told me that she prays for me and fasts for me and would take my burdens if she were able to do so.

This afternoon, Scott got my Shamrock shake out of the freezer and we watched The Great British Baking Show (that could be completely wrong, by the way) together. After one episode, I went back to bed. Later in the evening, He came in to check on me, and we talked. I'm still learning how to grieve the loss of biological children, and he is a great sounding board. He is a wonderful listener.

After I told him what I am feeling and what I think I might need, he told me he supports me and supports my decisions. This was the greatest tender mercy of all. Knowing that he trusts me and supports me in all I do is miraculous. Finding him was miraculous. I thank God every day for him because I thought I would never be worthy of a partner who shares my burdens, trusts my judgment, encourages me to follow my dreams, and wants me to succeed and be happy. He loves me for who I am, would never want to change me, and challenges me to do better, be better, and love myself more.

Sometimes when I am in the depths of despair, when my trials bog me down, when depression tries to swallow me whole, I forget that there is still good in my life, that life is beautiful, and that there is always something better than the bad I see around me. I'm so blessed to have a Savior who reminds me that life is beautiful. The sun always comes through the clouds, and I can always look forward to a brighter tomorrow. Happiness isn't dependent upon wealth, social status, health, number of friends, the size of my house, or how many children are in that house. Happiness is solely dependent upon recognizing the Lord's hand in my life.

They Said It'll Never be More Than You Can Handle

Am I the only person who wonders who "They" are?

People repeat different placative phrases all the time. Those phrases often begin with "they".

"They say life is supposed to be hard."

"They say that it's worth it in the end."

"They say it could always get worse before it gets better."

"They say you'll never get more than you can handle."

So who is, collectively, "They", and where can I go to smack "Them" around for a little while?

I went to an open house for a departing missionary on Saturday night. I have been struggling with anxiety and depression for the last two weeks. When I say struggling, I mean it's been hard to find a reason to get out of bed before 2:00PM. I'd been rallying so that I could slap a smile on because I am so proud of this young man. SO, so proud, and I wanted him to know that I'm in his corner one hundred percent. So I got up, got dressed, put on make-up, fixed my hair, and made a real effort.

I casually perused social media as I procrastinated my shower that afternoon. (I never said I got out of bed earlier than usual that day.) As I perused, I found that ANOTHER person I knew sneezed and was pregnant. Of course, five million cries of joy sounded across Facebook, the Heavens opened, and all of Mormondom rejoiced together. Because that's what we do. We are culturally programed to rejoice when people reproduce naturally.

I made a snide comment to my husband, got in the shower, and cried for 20 minutes. Because that's what real people do.

As I was finishing my make-up, I got a FaceTime call from my niece. She's a doll, and she has helped me stay sane for many years now. I stopped what I was doing and talked to her for a few minutes. As we were talking, she told me, very excitedly, that her aunt, my sister-in-law's sister, is having a baby. I told her that I had heard, changed the subject, and (I still feel guilty for doing this) started to look away and finish my eyeliner. I ignored my five-year-old niece because I couldn't handle it. Luckily, she asked to talk to Uncle Scott shortly after that.

After she hung up, and I had a fresh face of make-up, great hair, and my cute outfit for this open house, I said, "I'm fine. I'm ready. We can't be late. Let's go." Scott told me to talk. I cried and threw things and told him I couldn't ruin my make-up. Because that's what real people do.

We went to the open house, and things were going swimmingly. I talked to people I knew, made jokes (because if people are laughing there's no time to be serious), and ate way too much bad food (because food makes everything better). I had gone into the front room to meet one of Scott's former bosses and got to talking with people  in there when a couple with the cutest little girl walked in. I quickly recognized them, I had been her visiting teacher when she was newly divorced with three little kids, and I went to high school with his older brother. Their baby was enchanted by my paper cup, so I played with her. Luckily, they didn't stay too long. Rations were running low, so I put myself to work in the kitchen. Because that's what real people do.

I looked in my friend's fridge to see if there was any Dr. Pepper anywhere. I couldn't find any. I looked in her cupboard as well. Nothing. I thought of escaping and buying some. I ate more chocolate peanut better Rice Krispie treats. I sent Scott to ask her if she had a secret stash of the juice. Because that's what people do.

When she found me and gave me a bottle of DP, she took me back to the front room to talk. As I told her that I secretly hate people who sneeze and get pregnant all while being enchanted by their children, I fell apart. Because that's what real people do.

I went to LA the next day to see my dear friends bless their baby boy. They thought he would never come.  We went to lunch, we went to Malibu and I felt the wind on my face and smelled the sea salt and cried at the heavens. Because that's what real people do.

On the way home, I stopped and visited a dear friend. We met our freshman year of High School. She is the sweetest, kindest, most guileless person I have ever met. When people drove me crazy and I wanted to kick them off the quad, she was the first to say, "She has no where else to go. Just let her stay," When I told her not to accept a date to prom with the creepy guy who tried to blow up the school later that year, she told me, "I can't turn him down. He needs a friend right now." She has been through hell and back this last year. She is rebuilding her life from scratch. When I tell her I'm willing to punch, kick, castrate, and take other extraordinary measures, she responds, "I'm at peace with it. But I do need a big favor. Can you help with my taxes?" And she thinks she's asking for peace in the Middle East. I quietly say, "I will do your taxes for as long as you need me to do them."

She never asks about "They." She didn't once say, "Why is this happening?" She just asked for help with her taxes.

I woke up this morning and had started bleeding. A lot. I called my doctor, hoping to hear that it was normal. Instead I heard, "Can you come in tomorrow at 8:30AM?" When I saw the blood, my first thought was, They said it'll never be more than you can handle. This is more than I can handle.

"They" lie. Sometimes life is more than you can handle. Sometimes it is overwhelming. If someone says it's not, THEY are not a real person. Real people face insurmountable odds. They defy those odds. That's why "They" say that we never get more than we can handle.

Sometimes there isn't a choice. Sometimes life is sink or swim. Sometimes it's a choice to be Marlin or Dory. Be the control freak or dance in your underwear because that's the only option. So go buy some fun underwear because those will be the big girl panties that will help you swim.

There'll Be Days Like These, Momma Said...

It has been a long time since I've posted anything, and there is a valid reason for that. I think it's valid, and if no one else thinks it's valid, they can choose to not read.

First things first. I took a week to visit my superhuman sister and spend time with her adorable boys. Many of you know that she lives in San Diego, AKA paradise.

 I got to surprise her older son and attend his first Student of the Month assembly. He got an excellent peacemaker award. I am beyond proud. Knox is such a lover and such a gentle soul. He is everyone's friend, and his mom and dad teach him so well. I want to be half the parents they are some day.

He is the super cute boy, second row, left side, with the button on his hoodie!

After his assembly, he ran to me, threw his arms around me, and said, "Auntie Aimee, I'm so glad you could be here!" I wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world.

Then there is his adorable little brother. Everett is a firecracker. He reminds me so much of my sister at his age. He's curious, incorrigible, and loves to learn about everything. He loves nature, animals, bugs, and will stop to show me everything he sees and learns. His favorite movie is Minions, and his favorite TV shows are Beat Bugs, Little Einsteins, and Paw Patrol. Every toy flies, and every toy also saves the world. His imagination is boundless, as is his love for his family, especially his big brother. He wants to do everything Knox can do!

While I was helping my sister and having the time of my life with my boys (yes, she allows me to share custody), I got a phone call regarding a job interview I had right before I left town. I had interviewed with an LDS insurance company based on a recommendation from both my bishop and my Stake President. This gentleman has been in business for 20+ years in Fresno, has a reputable company, and my sister-in-law worked for him for a number of years. She left his company due to some difficult working conditions, so I was a bit wary, but having not had a job for eight months, I decided to take the interview.

My interview went extremely well, and the company owner wanted me to come back in for a second interview. I explained that I'd gotten the news of my nephew's award last minute and decided to come and celebrate with him, so that I would be unable to come in until the beginning of the next week and apologized for any inconvenience. He asked if I would be available by phone, to which I answered yes. He gave me a date and approximate time he would be calling, so I made myself available.

That time passed on the appointed day, so I assumed he had decided to hire someone else. I've gotten pretty used to that, so I went on about my afternoon. At about 3:30PM, which is crazy time with toddlers and a kindergartner, I got a phone call, and he offered me the job, starting the following Monday. I was ecstatic! I called my husband, my family, and told them the good news.

My sister cut and colored my hair to get me ready for this new adventure. I went and bought some work essentials at Target, and Scott and I celebrated my new job in style in conjunction with Valentine's Day.

Notice that my hair is fixed and I have on makeup! We went somewhere sort of fancy, I ate salmon, and it was a great night! My sister called for an update, and I told her that there were nice people there, that I was pretty sure I could learn the job quickly, and that it would be a great way to put food on the table and hopefully still get through college, which is my main goal.

As the week went on, I noticed that there were some problems in the work environment. Having been bullied at work, I recognized that the senior account representative wasn't too happy to have me around. After all, I took her sister's job. I asked for training, for opportunities to shadow and assist her, for any work she might have for me to do, and was pushed away each time. I heard her talking about me to her mother, who happened to be the receptionist, and I was left to train myself .I'm a smart cookie. I trained many hundreds of people and wrote course material on a national level in my previous jobs, so I knew that I could figure it out.

First I familiarized myself with the industry jargon. Then I asked the other account manager to sit with her and learn what I could. I filed case paperwork, I answered phones, and then on Friday, I knew that someone needed to know that the previous issue regarding workplace hostility was not resolved. I spoke to the co-worker I grew to trust and asked for advice. She said I needed to talk to the owner, express my concerns, and ask for help. I knew in my gut that I needed to do that before I even asked her.

After lunch, I asked him if he had a few moments. As a trained facilitator, as a woman trained to diffuse difficult situations, I went through all the steps to have a difficult conversation and sat down. I discussed the issues I uncovered in the workplace, told him that I was uncomfortable but that I liked the job and found what I was learning to be intriguing. What happened next still is one of the most shocking conversations I have ever had at work.

He told me that not everyone can come to work each day and be miserable. He stated that I am not one of those people, and that he would pay me through the end of the day and find someone to take my place. He would say that this was a temporary part time job and that I could leave. He said, "I don't do drama, and this is drama." I continued to try and explain that I wasn't about drama, that I enjoyed the things I was learning, and that I wanted to continue working. He wouldn't hear of it and let me go.

Devastated, I left. I didn't let him see my devastation. I didn't let him see me cry. After all, there's no crying in baseball. There's definitely no crying in business.

With no job, no money, and non prospects, I went home. I called my husband and informed him of the situation. I called my mom and fell apart. Then I went to a friend's house and tried to figure out why I failed.

Here's the thing - I didn't fail. I went to work on time, kept a great schedule, learned quickly, and performed exceptional work while I was there. I can look in the mirror in the morning and know that my integrity is intact. I know I did the right thing by reporting workplace bullying. My conscience is clear.

I spent last week feeling like a complete failure. I suffered from multiple anxiety attacks. I knew that I couldn't help provide for my VERY small family, and if I couldn't provide for a very small family, how could I ever foster or adopt children? That seemingly insignificant incident almost broke me.

I am so grateful for a bishop and a Stake President who listen to the spirit and listen to me. I went to talk to my Stake President because I didn't feel I could sustain this man as a member of the Stake Presidency after what had happened. He gave me very wise counsel, He then asked, what's your next step? I told him that I had always wanted to go back to school, but I felt I would be a burden on my husband if I did so. He said, "Why don't you let Scott decide that?" Then I went to talk to my bishop. I needed to let him know that our financial situation would most likely be getting worse and that I didn't know what to do. He asked me, "What's your next step?" I told him the same thing, that my desire is to be an English teacher, but that I feel selfish doing that when my husband works so hard. He told me about his journey to become a doctor. He started med school at 28 and there was a man in his class who was 57. That man always wanted to be a doctor, and he decided that he would never forgive himself if he didn't follow his dream.

"Aimee, you're young," he encouraged. "If you don't do this now, in five years, you'll still have no degree and be in a job that you hate. Do it now. Things will fall into place."

After having had two leaders tell me the same thing after having not talked to each other at all, I decided that now is the time. It's time (again) to be a poor college student. It's time to finally follow my dream and be an English teacher and starving writer. I can't believe I'm doing it.

Now I'm anxious that I won't be good enough, that I won't make it. Yet there is this little voice inside me that says I can. Then I think of those little adoptive children. Those future beauties that are waiting for me to get my act together, and I know that having an education will make all the difference to them. And that gets me through the hard days. I can do this.